Trapped in a world not his own. Tortured, imprisoned, enslaved. Even the strongest of men can break. One man will rebuild his broken soul and will pave the way for the freedom of mankind. His name is Ranma.

Disclaimer:
Ranma ½ is property of Rumiko Takahashi. Legend of Dragoon is
property of Sony and all companies forthright.

Author's
Note: I decided to revisit this after a fair number of requests to
continue. I re-read what I'd written and…got to say I wasn't
that impressed! So, I decided to rewrite and bring you a new, better
version. I might even do it with some of my other stories, too. Oh
yeah, and this is a fair bit darker than the original, too.

Chapter 1

The guide
sighed as once again his warnings were ignored. He briefly
contemplated using insults to get people to listen to him, but
decided that it would likely result in harm to himself – certainly
something he wanted to avoid. A quick glance skyward allowed him to
see the heavy clouds beginning to gather – never a good sign around
Jusyenko.

"Please,
honourable customers! Is very bad you fall in springs! Come back
before – ah! Too, too late," he moaned, dragging a slightly podgy
hand down his face. Just as he had spoken, the younger boy of the
pair had penetrated his father's guard and catapulted him into a
spring with a hefty splash.

"Hah! Too slow, old man!" the boy crowed. After seeing no
response from the spring, he hopped closer. "Pop?" he queried,
looking slightly worried. Before the guide could comment and inform
him of his father's fate, the spring erupted upwards, revealing a
panda wearing the remnants of a dirty white gi.

The guide sighed before explaining.

"Ah, too, too sad! My. Customer fall in spring of drowned panda,
tragic tale of panda that drown in spring one thousand five hundred
year ago!" he said. "Now any who fall in spring turn into panda!"
The teen goggled at the panda in shock, spotting the pair of glasses
dangling from one furry ear.

"Pop?" he tried. He turned and glared at the guide furiously.
"Why the hell didn't you tell us!" he snarled. The guide stared
at him passively.

The panda, meanwhile, shook itself, spraying water everywhere and
pounced, making an odd noise that, should one be inclined to do so,
sounded suspiciously like an attempt to form words. Unprepared for an
attack, the teenager took a solid hit to his sternum and was sent
flying with a surprised cry just as the skies opened and rain began
to fall in earnest.

"Oh, very bad!" the guide exclaimed, bringing his hands up to
grip his green hat in horror. He recognised the general area where
the boy was headed; an area of the springs where only the most
horrible of curses lay, and knew that there was very little chance
for a good resolution. Just as the boy was about to splash down into
a pool, a thunderous roar and a flash of light turned the world black
and white and shook the ground.

Falling to his hands and knees, the guide blinked rapidly to clear
the multitude of spots from his vision. Once he had restored some of
his sight, the guide heaved himself to his feet and hurried to the
pool he had seen the boy fall towards. Instead of the expected pool
however, a large steaming crater had replaced several of the pools,
its sides molten and glassy.

He saw the panda arrive and gawp comically at the crater before it
began making noises in his direction, waving its paws urgently.

"I very sorry, Mr Customer," the guide explained, "I not
understand panda." The panda paused and looked down at itself
before it began making awkward wailing noises. "Very tragic story,"
the guide commiserated, patting the animal on its shoulder.

Ranma found his return to consciousness a far cry from what he would
have desired as a sharp point dug unpleasantly into his chest.
Groaning at the sore feeling all over his body, he jerked as he felt
whatever it was slice into his flesh.

"Ow! Shit!" he cursed, leaping to his feet and clutching the
injured area. "What the hell was that for?" he demanded of the
fat man before him. A few seconds later, he realised that something
was very wrong. For one thing, the man glaring angrily at him was one
of the ugliest people he had ever seen, especially since he had a
terrible blue dye job that clashed with the tunic and leather armour
that barely held together around his obese form.

The second thing the young martial artist noticed was that the man
had wings. Glowing ones. Ranma blinked as the man before him snarled
out something in a harsh, unpleasant sounding language that sounded
offensive to his ears.

"What the hell are you? Man, did someone beat you with an ugly
stick when you were a baby? Wear a bag over your head will ya?" he
said. The man looked confused for a moment before saying something
else that made no sense. "No idea what you're saying, pal," he
admitted. The man glared and, bizarrely, then tried to stab him.
"Okay, now that's just rude," Ranma muttered, merely stepping
to the side slightly and unleashing a fast kick to the man's chin.

Predictably, he dropped like a sack of potatoes. "Well, that was
easy," Ranma said, feeling slightly disappointed at the quick
victory. Moving closer, he took a little longer to observe his
opponent. Whatever he wore was clearly some form of uniform, poorly
maintained and barely containing his corpulent body. The leather ties
looked frayed and the tunic below was spotted all over with grease
and food stains.

"Gross," Ranma muttered. His sensitive ears caught a faint
whistling sound and he leapt back to avoid being skewered by another
spear. "Yeah, nice to meet you too," he said sarcastically to his
new assailant. She merely barked another stream of nonsensical words
at him and tried to kill him again. "What is it with you people?"
Ranma complained, easily dodging several more strikes and ending up
behind the revealed girl.

She had blue hair, a lighter shade like the sky on a summer's day,
and deep, blood red eyes like rubies. Had it not been for the ugly
snarl on her face, he admitted he would likely have found her to be
incredibly beautiful. With another flip over her head as she whirled
around, Ranma pinned her with a quick hold. Afterward, he realised
that using a wrestling grapple was a poor choice against a female
opponent, considering his hands were now firmly pressed against her
bust.

"Uh," Ranma stammered, shocked at his unintentional molestation.
"S-sorry about that," he said. After a stunned pause, the girl,
who he recognised to be near his age, began screaming what sounded
like obscenities and writhing in his grasp like an eel, somehow
managing to force Ranma to grope her even worse than he had before.
"S-stop that! Geeze! You're making me grope your boobs!" he
protested.

His words fell on deaf ears as she began attempting to head butt him
into letting her go. Sighing at his predicament, Ranma just lodged
his chin at the juncture between her neck and shoulder and calmly
spoke. "That's not gonna work. You gonna calm down now?" he
asked. Having stilled at his close proximity to her neck, the girl
made no answer.

Taking her silence as agreement, Ranma gently disengaged and held up
his hands. She stared at him, her alabaster skin so pale she looked
milky white, for a few seconds before her face twisted and she
shrieked, lunging at him with her hands as if to choke the life from
him. Before he could take evasive action however, he felt a sharp
spike of pain from his temple and his world went black.

P'Teth glared down at the unconscious human and gingerly probed his
bruised chin as his companion began kicking the downed human.

"Stop that!" he snapped, "That's an order!" he added when
she continued.

"Serves you right! Now shut your yap and bring him – he'll make
a good fighter in the arena," he said. When she glared
rebelliously, he scowled. "I gave you an order, Lieutenant
Dar'karreth!" he barked. Scowling mutinously, she placed a hand
on the unconscious human's body and cast a levitation spell,
allowing his body to rise into the air at her side.

"Done, sir," she snarked. He purpled at the disrespect.

"Watch your tone, you little bitch. Daddy's not here right now,"
he said dangerously.

"You wouldn't dare," she said, her ruby eyes flashing with
anger. "I am far beyond the reach of one such as you," she
mocked. His face grew a dangerous smile.

"Keep thinking that," he said, rising into the air and turning
toward the city in the distance. Dar'karreth glowered at his
retreating form and rose to follow, her mind turning his words over
and over. She could not help a shiver of foreboding.

--

They reached the outskirts of the city in half an hour, the gates of
the penetention centre a further ten minutes after that. Dar'karreth
shuddered as they passed through the enormous doors that saw the
passing of hundreds of thousands of prisoners, its dark edifice
looming oppressively. There were many things she loved about her
people, but the centre was certainly not one of them. Despite knowing
that her people were superior in every way to the other races, she
still did not approve of the squalor in which the prisoners were
kept.

No one should have to live in an eight by eight cell, she
thought, staring down the endless corridors either side of her which
curved away into obscurity. She glanced down at the floating body
beside her and felt a momentary stab of pity. His life would be short
and depressingly brutal for his assaulting of an imperial officer.

The memories of the fight scrolled across her mind's eye again and
she felt an angry flush work its way across her face. She glared
hotly at the human, remembering his hands on her body.

Maybe I should kill him now and put him out of his misery, she
thought. The prospect was appealing, but with one hand on her spear,
she had no way to cast the spell whilst maintaining the levitation
field. Shutting it off would alert her superior and, despite him
being a loathsome little slimeball, he had the power to impose a
punishment for unauthorised termination.

Resigned to being unable to carry out her desire for vengeance, she
settled for taking a vindictive amusement in bashing the human's
head against anything handy during their journey, including doorways,
passers by, doors, tables and various other odds and ends.

Serves you right, you little creep, she thought as they
arrived at the admission desk. Her superior stepped forward.

"Got one for you Far'rah. Assaulting an officer of the empire,"
he explained, his fat belly jiggling in his excitement. Dar'karreth
grimaced and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at the sight.
The wingly behind the desk glanced up with amusement at the large
bruise that had darkened to an impressively deep purple.

"Oh?" he said. "An automatic life sentence." He glanced down
at the display inlaid into the desk at an angle. "Take him to block
C and book him in for a medical exam. He needs to be fitted with a
collar and then we can schedule his…induction into the arena."
Far'rah gave an oily, unpleasant smile mirrored by her superior's.

"You heard him, lieutenant. Take him away and report back to the
squad room in five minutes," the captain said. Dar'karreth stared
in shock.

"Better get moving then. Wouldn't want you to be late and get a
citation on your file, would we?" Snarling, she rose into the air
and shot off down an adjoining corridor, not even bothering to
request permission to leave. She was just close enough to hear her
superior speak before she passed out of earshot. "Little bitch,
we'll see how she likes scrubbing my boots with her tongue!" he
laughed, the administrator joining in a second later.

The sound echoed in her ears as she sped down the hall, her throat
tight with suppressed rage. As she frantically tried to reach the
cell block in time to avoid a reprimand, she thought about her
treatment. As the daughter of a prominent Wingly noble, she could
have had her pick of any kind of job. However, as she chose to go
into the military, like her father, she found herself subjected to
harsh hazing and continual attempts to block her progress.

It didn't take a genius to work out why. Her father was an
unpleasant man and ground people beneath his feet like ants. He had
gathered quite a number of opponents due to his actions, and nearly
every single one had decided to take it out on her and make her life
miserable. Her current superior, one of many she had, seemed to see
her as nothing more than a walking piece of ass to conquer and
subjugate as soon as possible. Her career prospects seemed virtually
nil.

Finally reaching her destination, she gave a perfunctory greeting to
the attendant guardsman and checked the listing for a vacant cell.
Finding one, she levitated the human onto a pad and keyed in her
access code before watching him disappear in a flash of green light.
She stared dully at the pad for a moment longer before returning her
focus to the info panel and booking an appointment for a medical
check-up.

Having completed her task, she glanced at the display on her armour
gauntlet and sagged. Seven minutes. Knowing that no matter how fast
she returned her odious captain would punish her for it, she waved a
farewell to the guardsman who gave her a pitying look in return and
headed off, deciding to take her time.

Thirty minutes later, she arrived at the ready room and walked into
the captain's office. He sat on the other side of his desk, perched
on a seat far too small to contain his massive bulk, stuffing a
sandwich into his face with such enthusiasm that half-masticated food
continually slopped from the side of his mouth onto his uniform.
Dar'karreth didn't bother to conceal her disgust, but saluted
anyway.

"Reporting as ordered, sir," she drawled. He glared at her
again and put his food on a pile of paperwork before him.

"Prisoner detention, sir," she said. He bristled and rose
from the chair, his jowls quivering angrily.

"I'm detecting an insubordinate tone, lieutenant," he growled.

"I apologise if that is your impression, sir," she said
blandly. His expression abruptly changed to an oily smile.

"Do you know what I have here, lieutenant?" he asked, waving a
portable pad before her eyes.

"No, sir," she replied. His smile widened and his eyes began
sparkling with malicious glee, prompting her stomach to begin
churning unpleasantly.

"This is a report of all your insubordinate behaviour, lieutenant.
A report I filed after you failed to show at the ordered time. As the
processing officer is a personal friend of mine, the report was
processed with remarkable speed," he gloated. Dar'karreth
swallowed as he glanced at the pad. "With immediate effect," he
quoted, "Lieutenant Crystal Dar'karreth is demoted to private
class and reassigned to penitentiary number 324 where she will remain
on probation until further notice. Any outbursts of insubordinate
behaviour and she will be dishonourably discharged and remanded into
custody under the appropriate charges."

Crystal stared, her face pale.

"You can't do this," she whispered. He laughed.

"I can, you little bitch. Daddy doesn't care, you see. He's
always wanted a son," he sneered. "You should have sucked me when
I told you to," he said, "It would have saved you all this
trouble. I hope you like working with all the criminal filth in the
arena! Now get out of here! Your new assignment will be sent to you."
he smirked at her as she numbly exited and walked past her former
team mates, barely registering their greetings.

My life is over, she thought in horror. All I'll ever see
are murders, thieves and rapists for the rest of my career. She
gave a little hysterical giggle. What career? I've no chance at
a promotion and I might as well not exist to father, she thought.
She tried to blame the human, but couldn't find anything that he
did. It would have happened at some point without his appearance.

Her mind blessedly blank, Crystal returned to her quarters and
mechanically stripped off her uniform before climbing into the shower
unit. Selecting the water emission program, she waited until the
steaming water rolled down her body before curling up and beginning
to cry.

The first thing he felt was the cold metal of the floor pressing
itself into his cheek. His head pounded and he briefly wondered if he
had any broken bones, like he had several years ago. The feeling was
similar. He shifted and groaned softly.

"Ugh," Ranma muttered, "I so shouldn't have gotten up today."
He levered himself to his knees and opened his eyes fractionally. The
room he was in was lit with a weak green light emanating from a small
circle in the far corner of the eight by eight cell. The walls were
smooth and made of the same dark metal as the floor and there
appeared to be no way in or out.

"Great," he complained, "My day gets better and better."
Sighing, he settled against the wall and began tentatively probing
his injury. He sighed when he felt no breaks, just a severe lump from
whatever had hit him. "Lucky I got a hard head, I guess," he
mused. Inspecting his cell again, he determined there was nothing at
all he could see and settled in to wait. Tired from his headache, he
fell asleep within minutes.

He awoke again an indeterminate time later when the light in the
corner of the room began growing brighter. He squinted as it reached
blinding levels and felt his body tingle all over. When he regained
his sight, he was held at spear point by three men, the sharp metal
digging in to the soft flesh of his neck.

"Easy," he yelped and held up his hands. They jabbered at him
and, after seeing his look of incomprehension, indicated he should
move by inclining their heads sharply to the side. He followed the
command and found his hands bound behind his back by some weird
device affixed to his right wrist. The trio led him down a long,
vaulted hallway made with the same oppressively dark metal styled in
organic patterns to a large room lit with hovering balls of bright
white light.

Ranma stared, aware that no-where he had been had ever had something
similar. Another command came, forcing him to stare in annoyance at
the winged man. His reward was a sharp blow to the back of his legs
that forced him to sit uncomfortably. Had the spears not been at his
throat, Ranma knew he would have enjoyed wiping the arrogant smirk
off of the uniformed man's face.

He took the time to glance at their uniforms and suppressed a smile.
They looked like pyjama'ed clowns similar to a program about people
in space he had seen once, only an ugly grey and lime green colour
that, once again, clashed horribly with their bright blue hair.

What is it with the hair, already? Weird colour if you ask me,
he thought. He spotted a plump woman approaching, dressed in a long
white coat and carrying a small square object only an inch or so
thick. Looks like a doctor, he mused. She said something to
him and he shrugged.

"No idea what you're sayin', lady," he admitted. "Don't
think you guys speak Japanese. You speak Chinese?" he asked,
switching to his fragmented grasp of the language. They stared at
him. "Guess not," he said once more in his native tongue. His
flippant tone obviously angered his captors, as they growled and
increased the pressure on his throat. "No sense of humour," he
muttered.

The woman made some comments to the other winged people and crossed
the room to a recessed portion of the wall fronted by glass. Ranma
glanced around the rest of the room, noting the weird design of the
beds that lined one wall and a desk covered with odds and ends he had
never seen in his life.

I feel like I'm in some kind of weird anime program, Ranma
thought to himself. The plump woman returned carrying a thin silver
collar and began to hold it up as if to place it on him. Oh I so
don't like the look of that, he thought to himself. With his
captors ready to open his veins however, he had no choice but to
submit and have the collar placed on his neck.

With a small click and a whirring sound, he felt the ends join just
beneath his ponytail. The woman held up the transparent pad to the
choker and nodded at whatever she saw there. Her red eyes stared into
his own.

"Can you understand me now?" she asked, her voice pleasant and
not at all abrasive as it had been before. Ranma blinked.

"Hey, yeah I can. Why are your lips moving weirdly?" he asked.
The woman arched a blue eyebrow at him.

"It's the translation magic in the collar," she replied. "Now,
I'm going to ask you a few questions before handing you back to the
guards," she said. Ranma glanced uneasily at the trio, who had
removed their spears and were now smirking at him.

"Right," he said.

"Just to inform you that the collar you are now wearing contains a
powerful implosion device that will activate should you attempt to
harm any Wingly citizen, immediately removing your head from your
shoulders," she began. Ranma's eyes bulged in shock and his hands
automatically rose. "I wouldn't do that. It also activates if it
detects tampering," she said. He froze and stared at her, his eyes
wide.

She smiled benignly and looked at her pad again.

"So," she began, "where are you from?"

"Japan," he responded. A faintly puzzled frown creased her
forehead.

"And where is that?" she said. Ranma blinked.

"Uh…I think…the pacific?" he tried, vaguely recalling
something from his brief stint in Japanese middle school. Her eyes
bored into his, her frown more pronounced.

"Where is the pacific" she probed. He stared at her.

"It's a really big load of water called a sea," he deadpanned,
then yelped and spasmed as a vicious current of electricity jangled
across his nerves.

"Please keep yourself in check," the woman observed mildly.
"Where is this," she consulted her pad, "pacific sea?" Ranma
stared at her again.

"I dunno how to answer that," he admitted. "It's just there."

"I'll try again. Where on Endiness is the 'pacific sea?'"
she said.

"Uh, where's Endiness?" he asked. Her eyes flicked to the pad
sharply and she drew in a startled breath.

"One moment," she said and rose to whisper urgently to the trio
near the door, who looked grim. She returned a moment later, a
serious look on her matronly face. "I'll ask you again, Where on
Endiness is the 'pacific sea?'" she said.

"I don't know," Ranma said. She pressed the pad and he jerked
as the collar shocked him again. "I don't know!" he repeated.
He received four more shocks, each progressively more painful, before
she quit.

"Are you from Endiness?" she asked when he had been lifted from
the floor and replaced on his seat. He glared wearily at her.

"I don't think so," he admitted. The woman exchanged a
significant look with one of the guards, who raced off out of sight.
Ranma thought that was probably a bad thing. The woman looked at him
again.

"Have you ever used magic?" she asked, staring at him intensely.

"No," Ranma replied truthfully. He gave an involuntary cry when
the strongest shock so far ripped through his body, sending him to
the floor in convulsions. He panted when they relented, his mouth
open and greedily sucking air into his lungs.

"I'll ask again, have you ever used magic?" the voice came.
Ranma twitched and raised his eyes from the floor to stare at her
white-booted foot.

"No," he rasped, fully expecting the following shock. He arched
and contorted, writhing helplessly as a continual stream of power
ravaged his body. Distantly, he heard his screams and struggled to
contain them to no avail. After an eternity of pain, it stopped and
he panted weakly.

"This is the last time I shall ask, have you ever used magic?"
her voice was crisp, cool and detached, as if she found the torture
she was inflicting an every day occurrence. It probably was, he
thought. He sagged weakly, knowing the answer was not one they wanted
to hear.

"No," he said. His voice was hoarse, barely more than a strained
whisper. He waited, but the pain did not come. He lolled his head to
the side and stared up with watery eyes. She was staring at the pad
with pursed lips.

"Thank you, that will be all," she said. "Take him away," she
ordered the remaining two. One nodded and hauled him up by his hair.
He winced, unable to make any noise from his damaged chords other
than a rough exhalation.

"Move it," the winged man ordered, pushing him roughly toward the
door. Ranma took a single, staggering step before collapsing on his
face. He heard the two men laugh and felt a burning rage ignite in
his belly at the humiliation. Silently, he vowed to get them back
even as he felt a light touch on his back and his body left the floor
as if he weighed nothing more than a feather.

He glared down at the floor as it passed beneath him until he was
dropped unceremoniously on his face over the green light of the
transport circle. Green light consumed his vision even as the blood
dribbled from his nose and he reappeared back in his tiny eight by
eight cell.

In the oppressive silence he struggled against the almost crushing
despair that consumed him, his hands fisted so tight that his blunt
fingernails gouged into the flesh of his palms.

If I ever get back, old man, I'll skin you alive, he vowed.
It took five hours for him to fall asleep, his face resting in a
small puddle of his own blood.

Author's
Note: Reviews make me write faster!

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.